The Month of Junctior, in the Season of Autumn, Era II of the Celestine Mandate, Era XIV Post Fractum.
The note in the elf's hand was torn now, after accompanying its owner through many eras of aimless wandering. He had seen it all - Prime, Gaudeo, Natura, Mystique, Silrosia - everywhere except Diana. The one place where he lacked the will to tread. Opening the note once more, the elf's eyes skimmed over the words as though reading them again would bring some revelation that he had missed in the thousand readings before.
Quote:
To Cerius Duvalle, former Bishop of the Church of the Faith,
The Church recognises your efforts on your behalf, albeit belated. Your presence in Diana is requested in order to help overthrow a personage who has for too long plagued us with her new and troublesome ideas. Please come and speak to me about how you can help the Church be free of this threat.
Andrea Marsala,
Prelate of the Church of the Faith
|
No, Andrea, Cerius thought to himself.
You misjudged me. I will fight no fights and shed no blood in Diana. Still the words plagued the elf. Aerienne's "new ideas" had washed over the Empire like an unstoppable tide, and even now a new Archprelate had been chosen who shared her foolishness. Could Cerius have stopped it? He was a fighting man to rival the Abbott of Krinkinstat, and certainly well respected amongst the priests of Aslan, Orod and Ioannes. He was well respected amongst the Carmelyn Vigiles, state warriors who would not have cared one bit about his excommunication.
The elf allowed himself a wry smile.
Therein, he thought,
lay the problem. For him to take part, it would have caused a rift in the Vigiles, between those squads he had worked with and commanded, and those that didn't know him. The Churches of Aslan, Orod and Ioannes would undoubtedly have rallied behind the banner of Andrea Marsala, and Cerius' iron fist would have torn the heart out of any resistance. The Church wasn't land or gold to be won by fighting men, though, and Cerius was not about to spill the blood of paladins of the faith, acting in the best interests of the Faith's leader. If Marsala wanted a revolution, he could try one. If he failed to reason with the people, then no amount of swords by his side could make a revolution right.
"Land!"
The deck burst into a flurry of activity as sailors seemed to emerge from nowhere to bring the ship into port. Families and travellers gathered to catch their first glimpse of the island city. Cerius found himself almost intrigued, his elven eyes squinting to make out details of the black speck on the horizon. Soon, the note and all the events that had happened over the eras on the mainland had been forgotten in favour of what he hoped would be a new home.
After what seemed like an eternity, the ship made it to port and slowly, the deck started to empty. Noone seemed to notice the elf in the corner, dressed almost like a mercenary in dusty, torn browns and whites that had long ago turned cream. For his part, Cerius had ignored just about everybody as they passed by him to leave the ship, opening his pale blue eyes only when he and select few of the ship's crew remained on deck. Picking up his meagre belongings, the elf joined the queue leading into Secyclion.
"My name is Cerius Kaladrel Duvalle, and I hope to find myself a place to stay, the elf stated, as he handed his well worn travel documents to the sentry. As the elf spoke, he heard a few of the ship's crew in line behind him gasp. Xander's hand slipped to his Xiphos and he took a step back as a massive white pegasus stallion landed behind Cerius.
"No need for that, friend," the elf said firmly.
"This is Taelyin, and he'll be frequenting your lovely city quite often while I'm here."